Winds esker               
  
                                          
 There  Was This Place That For Two Years 
 I Couldn'T  Go  To. Regardless How  Much 
 Discussed  With  Others,  Or Pointed Out 
 On  Maps,  I  Could Not Think Of It When 
 Alone.  I  Would  Often  Travel Past The 
 Fork, Where  A Right  Turn Would  Surely 
 Take  Me There, But Even Then, Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When  I  Finally  Got There, After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place   Was  Surreal.  An 
 Esker, Like  A Needle-Thin Rift  Out  In 
 The  Lake,   But  Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned In  Birch, Willow,  Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The  View  To Either Side. There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T Recognize Them. First  Off,  They 
 Were Much  Too Close, As The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For A  Hundred  Meters More  On 
 Both  Sides.  But Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach  Out  And  Touch Them. And 
 Then,  When I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They Were Of  The  Right  Lake. But This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite.  Like A Pair Of  Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With  No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
    Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly     
 Understood Them As Belonging Many  Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I  Examined   The  Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above.  Was This What You  Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying  Forward, On  The  Very Tip  Of 
 The Esker,  I Found The  Ruins  Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The  Moss,  And  Strange Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The Slope  Like Dams  Against  The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There, I  Could  See  Across The 
 Narrowed  Lake My Entire Path To Where I 
 Sat: From  The  Stairwell  Of  My House, 
 Through The  Old  Woods Behind The  Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And Then  Back  Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,  Over   The 
 Fields, And Then That  Right Turn At The 
                   Fork.                  
                                          
 And  Then The Stairs  Up  On The  Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In A  Grove, There  Were  Stairs 
 Much  Like The Ones  I Currently Sat On, 
 Old  And  Worn  Down, That Lead  You  Up 
 Onto The Esker. The Point Of  Entry. Had 
 I Insted  Opted To Walk The  Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M Sure My  Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,  There  Were  People   In 
 Boats. I  Wondered, Could They  Even See 
 Me? If  I Shouted,  Would  They Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?